


Poco Loco

by Anonymous



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Amigos, Based on a drawing, Before or IF Ernesto dident murder Hector, Cheering Up, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Guys being guys :P, Hector is a little bean X3, Oneshot, Tickle torture, Tickles, Tickling, Ticklish Hector, Was Ernetso ALWAYS bad or did fame change him?, While on the road, just general fluff, tickle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 20:51:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20414128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: During there early days, travelling Mexico, homesickness is quickly creeping up on Hector and dragging him down. Ernesto isent exactly as understanding as he ought to be, but, has a way of making his friend feel better non the less. Something he used to do when they were children, and you know what they say, men never really grow up.





	Poco Loco

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commissioned bit of writing, and the writer wished to remain anon. I felt like it was too good to keep to myself, I'm free to share it as long as I keep it anon. It just seems such a same to hide anything so fun away ^^ Its a clean fic, but, I must admit if anyone wanted to do a slashy twist on it XD I consider Hector/Ernesto a guilty pleasure of mine.
> 
> This work is released under Sharealike, because sharing is caring. have fun, create! Don't let anyone stop ye. If anyone wanted to do a twist on it, some fanart, add to it, anything, I'd be absolutely delighted.
> 
> Just a fluffy little tickling fic done for fun, including a picture, to show how they could have been friends ^^ Lets assume they were at some point or another, they really were familia. Just two old pals messing around. Based on this drawing
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/benj24/art/Commission-Happy-Memory-755252084
> 
> On a side note, I absolutely LOVE Hector Rivera ^^ He is the cutest thing ever and I cant get enough, one of my favourite Disney Characters.

At the sound of a rooster crowing through the street, farmers and artisans alike filtered back out from their homes, the sounds of a bustling market returning in a slow crescendo in their wake. Figurines, produce, knick-knacks of various types, and all sorts of small goods any travelling musician may need in their quest for world-wide fame returned to their places in the stalls, hawked by their producers for all the pesos they need to continue following their own dreams. In particular, one young woman, flanked by her mother and her grandmother, held up a single flower from a small bouquet of orchids in her arms while her starry eyes focused completely on the tall man gently plucking it from her hand to sample the delicate fragrance. He exhaled with a smile, turning to the friend friend travelling with him, and offered the younger, clean-shaven man a sniff of his own, exclaiming to him, “Amigo, have you ever smelled something so beautiful in your life?”

Hector was not as outwardly pleased with the scent, but as he set his guitar case down and closed his eyes for the fragrance wafting towards his waiting nose, thoughts of home crept into the corners of his mind. “Qué hermosa. What a wonderful scent, Ernesto. It reminds me of the plants Imelda grew in our home, it brought so much color and life to the place before we had anything else. Before Coco.” He turned to regard the young girl selling the flowers, smiling directly at her even though she only had eyes for the taller, more handsome man beside him. Ernesto carefully slipped the orchid into Hector’s breast pocket, patting him gently with a warm smile and a concerned look in his eye. Hector met eyes for only a moment, then looked away, nodding his thanks to his older friend as he picked his guitar case back up.

“Two more flowers, please, young lady,” Ernesto’s voice asked while Hector walked away. Hector glanced back in time to see Ernesto placing the coins the girl asked for in her palm, flashing her a bright, show-winning smile and a wink, before he left her to titter over the handsome man with her mother while her grandmother merely shook her head the whole time. He placed both flowers in his own breast pocket before finally catching up to his friend, and then he clapped a hand down on his shoulder to shake him about in a display of amicable bravado. “Mi amigo, you are always so gloomy! We’re here in the heart of the world, and you still think about humble poquita Santa Cecilia!” he opined, dancing around his friend as he continued to trudge forward with the weight of his homesickness adding itself to his already heavy load. Palms gently clap his cheeks, turning his face towards his more bombastic friend’s own as Ernesto continued in a quiet reminder, “You didn’t lose everything, Hector. I’m here with you still. We take care of each other, like we always have, yes?”

Hector finally smiled again at that, nodding his head even as he pulled his eyes away once more. “Yes, como siempre, Ernesto. I’m glad to have you around.” Ernesto let him go at that point, taking his place a step ahead at Hector’s side once more as the pair continued their midday market shopping. “You know, it’s always like this before a performance. We’ve only a couple of days, and the thought of the large crowds always linger in my mind,” he explained, as he stopped to inspect an intricately designed necklace of purple beads.

Ernesto laughed. “Is that why you enjoyed playing in Santa Cecilia so much more? Fewer people left to tell you ‘¡Qué malo!’ every time you strum la guitarra?” He even held his hands about his mouth, mimicking the cry of a crowd heckler to Hector’s laughing face, just to be shoved away by a hand at his chest.

  
“Oh, look at you, Señor ‘What’s an E chord?’!” Hector retorted, to an eye roll from Ernesto, the taller man idly juggling a pair of corn cobs picked up from a nearby stall. The vendor attempting to tell Ernesto the price for the corn went mostly unnoticed in favor of Hector. Hector leaned against the stall, eliciting the farmer’s attention, and nodded towards Ernesto. “You see that man right there? So big and so well-kept, if only he knew la guitarra like he knows how to eat!” The farmer cast a twinkling eye in Ernesto’s direction, who merely glanced at both of the corn cobs in his hands with an unsure look, as if he had just been exposed in the act.

“Oh, look at you, jealous just because I can eat without getting sick half the time!” Ernesto finally fired back, planting a corn cob against his grinning friend’s stomach for him to take with his free hand, before the ring of coins bouncing on a table followed. “And here’s an extra tip for you not to further expose my love of good food,” he told the farmer, affecting a stern look and accusatory point directly at the playfully surrendering man. Ernesto turned then, cupping the back of Hector’s head, and lead him away while the two fell back into their laughter together and the farmer scooped up the generous payment afforded to him.  
  
“¡Dios mío! It’s him! It’s really him, it’s Ernesto de la Cruz!” came a cry further down the road.  
  
The two musicians stopped where they stood, Hector glancing about in sudden, disarmed nervousness as Ernesto stepped in front of him, his arms out as wide as the toothy smile on his face. “Yes, it is I! Ernesto de la Cruz, with his muy talented instrumentalist, Hector Rivera! Your eyes do not deceive you, mi familia!” he called out in his signature, boisterous show voice, and as quickly as he had taken to his fame, the small crowd had nearly surrounded them, with men and women alike gushing over their talent and their songs while clamoring for autographs. While Hector humbly autographed another aspiring musician’s songbook, Ernesto was loudly exclaiming his love for all of them. He plucked the extra orchid from his breast pocket, offering a showy wafting sniff of the fragrant bloom before the eyes of a pretty young woman, and gently worked it into her hair while proclaiming, “A beautiful flower for a beautiful woman.” She practically fainted on the spot, while pens and books were shoved into Ernesto’s ever pleased face. He scribbled his own name down on page after page, before finally throwing his hands up. “You are in luck tonight, mi familia! We, your ever humble performers, will be throwing a grand show for you all this weekend!” The crowd loved the news, and Hector was only left with his fears of great crowds filling his mind while Ernesto continued, “And we love you all so much, mi familia, that right now, right here, we will play a song for you, and just for you! Es un regalo de nuestra corazones, a heartfelt gift of thanks for all of your love and support!” The crowd went wild, dispersing just enough to give the two plenty of room for their singing. Hector was not as enthused.

“What, a song, here? Now?”

Ernesto turned to him, clamping a hand down on his shoulder, reassuring him, “Think of it as a warm up! Come on, pull out your guitar.” He waved his other hand towards the expectant crowd, the woman with the flower in her hair at the front and waiting with hands clasped like in prayer. Hector focused on her in particular, though in his mind, she was not some strange woman; she was Imelda, waiting on him to lead her to the home they intended to share with each other for the rest of their lives -- Imelda, left behind in Santa Cecilia. His heart sank, as he held his hand to a pocket holding a letter he was still writing for her and their daughter, Coco. Ernesto, however, was getting impatient, leaning down so he could look up directly into Hector’s eyes and plead in a much quieter tone, “Please, Hector. For me?”

Hector finally returned to the present, and he nodded, before proclaiming, “A song!” With a whoop, he unclasped his case, swinging it about to simultaneous toss it to the floor and pull his ornate guitar free with a showman’s flourish, to the fresh cry of approval from the people around them. “And what do we sing today, mi amigo?”

Ernesto flourished, another bright smile upon his face. “I believe we should give the crowd a song that speaks to them! The sun is hot and the chores are plentiful, I believe we are all being driven… un ‘Poco Loco!’”

The crowd was at its height, with clear excitement and approval of this song choice splashed across every face Hector looked upon. He brought his hand high, his fingers ready, and strummed the first chord. This was a song he had played many, many times. It was a song he knew by heart, a song from the heart; a song he had written for his beloved Imelda. She was a strong-willed woman, she knew what she wanted and she knew what they needed, and every day there seemed to be something new that he had to do for her. Sometimes, she just didn’t make sense, but he knew, even if she told him the sky was red, even if she told him to put his shoes on his head, no matter how often she danced circles around him like she was dead set on a tango while he wanted to waltz, he could agree…

“I’m nodding and I’m ‘yes’-ing! I’ll count it as a blessing, that I’m only un poco loco!”

...except the day he left her. Hector was suddenly well aware of Ernesto staring at him over his shoulder, with the crowd around them silent and wondering what had just happened. He realized, then, he had made a mistake. He had hit the wrong note. Thinking quickly, as dread and embarrassment overtook his features and breathing, he immediately strummed out a series of generic chords, finishing with ‘improvised’ ending notes and as wide and confident a smile as he could muster. The first rule as a musician was never admitting you had made a mistake, after all! The crowd applauded, but they did not seem as enthused as before, and Ernesto was clearly unhappy with this result. He stammered slightly as he thought of similar improvisation, and called out to the crowd as he threw back on his confident showman’s costume, “And that, mi familia, was only a taste of the talent you will experience at the show this weekend! ‘Poco Loco,’ and all of your other favorite songs, all at the same time and in full, this weekend only! Please, come see us both then, we will truly impress and astound you as you, mi familia, truly deserve to be!” The crowd was slightly assuaged by this, but they did not seem completely convinced, and they filtered away from the pair as the sounds of multiple conversations, all of confusion and disappointment, filtered through the dusty streets into Ernesto’s mortified ear.

Hector, for his part, was left staring directly into the eyes of the young woman with the flower in her hair. She had been so excited, and so grateful, for this impromptu performance, but his own showman’s smile faltered as she stared at him with saddened eyes. Her hands sank down, clasped before her lap, and she eventually turned away, lead off by the man she was with while her head hung low. Her disappointment was palpable, and struck Hector deep inside. Sorrow overtook his mind, much like the sorrow Imelda showed when he finally turned around to see her in the doorway of their home, holding a child barely old enough to remember her father up at her shoulder. It was like he had just let Imelda down again -- but then he felt a hand at his collar, tugging him out of his thoughts like Ernesto tugged him out from the center of the street.

Ernesto was many emotions at once. He was humiliated, he was angry, and above all else, he was concerned. Both hands fell on Hector’s shoulders, the larger and older man shaking him about briskly as he demanded, “¿Qué pasó, amigo? You know this song like you know your favorite foods, how could you falter like that?”

Hector shook his head, stammering as he tried to find an explanation. “I don’t know, I don’t know what happened, lo siento, mi amigo, it won’t happen again, I promise!”

Ernesto was not convinced. Pleading entered his voice like his face, and he leaned in closer, giving Hector less of a shake but still attempting to bring his attention away from the alley towards himself. “Hector, please. There is something wrong, I know there is. I’ve known you for far too long to just ignore when an amigo is in trouble. Please. Digame, amigo. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Hector was silent for a moment, staring directly into his childhood friend’s eyes, before he finally dropped his gaze to admit in defeat, “It’s Imelda, Ernesto. I’m sorry. I cannot stop thinking about my wife… my family. I miss them.”

Ernesto was silent himself, letting go of Hector to step away from him in disbelief. “Tu familia, Hector? Hector! Hector, the whole world es tu familia now! This was what we agreed upon when we first decided we needed to leave Santa Cecilia behind!” He was flustered -- disappointed and angry all at once -- gesticulating wildly as he paced back and forth in front of Hector. “There is a time and a place for nostalgia, Hector, but not ahorita! Not here, not now, not during a performance! Those people, Hector, tu familia, they wanted a song! They wanted to clap, and dance, and enjoy themselves, they did not come to us to experience you suddenly feeling sorry for yourself, losing your muse over your wife!” He buffeted his friend with his palms, forcing Hector to stop staring at the ground and look at him, before Ernesto pointed at himself and yelled, “You humiliated me, Hector! In front of all of those people!” He pointed back at Hector, “Worst of all, you humiliated yourself! You’re lucky it was just a street performance, but amigo, what if that happened at el concierto? What if that happened at one of the biggest, most important events in our entire lives?”

Ernesto shook his head, while Hector shook his own, rubbing his face to clear away the sweat and the shame overtaking it. “I’m sorry, Ernesto. I wasn’t thinking. It’s still new to me, I’m not as experienced as you yet, mi amigo, I’m trying.”  
  
“Try harder! Think of other people for once!”

Hector was taken aback by the sharp tone, but he knew that Ernesto was right. He just held his guitar close against his chest, staring back at Ernesto like a chastised puppy, and the older man simply shook his head before walking away with an angry huff. He followed behind slowly, almost dragging his guitar behind him, before finding his case and putting it back inside. He announced to Ernesto, “I’m going to go to the hotel. I’ll see you there when you are done here.”

  
Ernesto was already several steps down the road away from him. He stopped, folding his hands together, as if deep in thought, before he nodded. He turned towards Hector, waving at him, with a genuine smile on his face. “That’s a good idea, amigo. I have things to purchase still myself. Get some rest, perhaps get something to eat, we will see each other again later tonight!”

Surprised at the quick forgiveness, but grateful nonetheless, Hector called back out with a wave of his own, “Don’t spend all of our money, we still need to eat for two more days!” At Ernesto’s laughter, he turned, hand still up high, and began walking down an adjoining street that lead to their hotel.

\-----

  
  
The amber rays from the setting sun filtered into the hotel room, bathing everything in orange light and casting long shadows across the desk Hector was writing on. He could still see well enough to continue carefully writing on the letter he was preparing to send home to Imelda, and their daughter, Coco; Words that explained the things he was doing, the songs he was writing. expressing his love for them both, and how much he missed them. Bare feet tapped against the hardwood floor beneath him as he thoughtfully brushed the feather topping his pen against his chin. He quickly pulled it away. He had always been quite ticklish, and the sensations the pen left were not conducive to proper letter writing. “Ay, mi cariño, how I miss you so much,” he sighed to himself, placing the pen down before folding the paper up. “I will come back home to you two soon, I promise. I just need more time.” At the sound of the door to their hotel room being unlocked and opened, he turned his head. “Oh, Ernesto’s finally here. About time.” He pushed himself away from the desk, standing and turning to face the door as his friend finally came through.

“Hector,” Ernesto started, kicking off his shoes as he closed the door behind him. He set a bag down on the floor, and affixed his younger friend with a stern look while he pulled his coat off. “I apologize for coming home tardío, amigo, but, well,” he started, tossing his coat aside before pulling out a length of rope from the bag. He straightened back up, slapping one end against his open palm. “There is something that needs to be done.”

A look of terror overtook Hector as he realized just what Ernesto was planning, and he held his hands up. “Ernesto, please, we are not children anymore!” he told him, shaking his head while his sight bounced between the rope and the stern look on his friend’s face. Ernesto shook his own head, taking brisk steps towards Hector.

“Don’t make this más difícil than it needs to be, amigo.” He reached out for Hector, who ducked away from his grab, slipping around behind him. He bolted for the door, only to be pounced upon from behind by his childhood friend, and he was dragged away kicking and screaming in order to be thrown down onto one of the beds furnished for their room. Ernesto, being the larger man, had no problem with pinning the younger man down on his back, straddling his belly to ensure he stayed in place while he quickly lashed both of his wrists to the bed frame. “I told you, amigo,” he grunted, grabbing a pillow and planting down firmly on Hector’s bound arms, providing his head something soft to rest upon to prevent accidental injury to himself. “Don’t make this difficult! This is for your own good!” 

“Ernesto, please, not tonight, I’m not in the mood!” Hector pleaded, wriggling himself around beneath him while futilely trying to pull his arms free from the binds holding him down.

“Hector…” Ernesto responded, his tone slowly passing from the sternness of before, to something a bit more playful. His fingers wiggled about in front of Hector’s face, an almost maniacal smile crossing Ernesto’s features while his younger friend practically screamed in expectant terror. Against all of his friend’s protests and the even greater amount of struggling beneath him, Ernest crouched down over him like a predator feasting on prey, and sent those wiggling fingers directly into his armpits. The effect was instantaneous, with Hector’s legs and bare feet kicking outward behind them harmlessly while Ernesto tortured him with insistent tickles. “You just had to make it harder on me, now I have to make it harder on you, amigo,” Ernesto teased.

The fingers slowly danced downward over Hector’s body, the barest touches of their tips against his skin and through his clothes sending him into a cacophony of shrieks and laughter.

The fingers slowly danced downward over Hector’s body, the barest touches of their tips against his skin and through his clothes sending him into a cacophony of shrieks and laughter. First it was his armpits, such sensitive weak spots forced to remain vulnerable through the bindings on his wrists keeping his arms straight. Then it was a dance down along his ribs, the fingertips constantly dusting each individual bone through his shirt and skin with the barest brushes of contact required to bring peals of tortured laughter to his face. No matter how hard he struggled, Hector was helpless under his friend. It brought forth childhood memories from deep within. Hector, that well-kept, mild-mannered romantic of a modern musician, was that little boy in the street once more, squealing while the billowy clouds of dust spouted by his frantic writhing flowed around the two of them and settling back down on Ernesto’s clothing. The modern day look of a grown man chuckling along with Hector’s frenzied laughter melted away into the youth of yesteryear, of a much older child using his size advantage over his younger friend in order to see how long he could keep him laughing and squirming before he finally got away. “There’s no escape for you tonight, amigo,” Ernesto laughed overhead, his fingers assaulting his ribs at this point, almost digging into his body with every assault now as Ernesto entrenched himself in the moment.

“Ernesto! Please, stop, I’m begging you, I can’t take it, stop! ¡Paren eso!” Hector pleaded through his tearful shrieks of laughter, his entire body still twisting itself about in panicked and ultimately futile attempts to escape the fingers attacking his nerves. His pleas and laughter were overtaken by Ernesto’s own triumphant bellows, before the assault finally stopped. Hector could breathe again, if just for a moment, and he settled back down to gasp for breath while staring back up at Ernesto, mildly indignant with other, stronger emotions still present in his face. “Basta, Ernesto, you’ve had your fun. Untie me now. Let me go.”

Ernesto reached down to his hopeful face, and simply tickled his chin in defiance, forcing Hector to turn his face away to escape the same sensation he’d caused himself with a pen earlier. “Stop being a bully! I told you, ¡déjame ir!” Hector sputtered out, his back arching with his attempts to escape the slow, almost languid motions of his tormentor’s wiggling fingers. “

“Oh, or what? Or what, niño?” Ernesto taunted, his hand finally giving Hector’s face a rest in order to clamp down with its brother on his chest, causing Hector to huff while Ernesto slid himself further back along his body. “You are in no position to be trying to boss me around here, niño! Just relax, try to enjoy this, you know how it goes. I’m merely… seizing a moment!” His thighs clamped around Hector’s, allow Ernesto to lean back just enough to bring his hands down and begin tickling his friend’s belly and sides. He went slowly, and even drew whole, geometric designs into the flailing younger man’s nerves as a display of his superiority. “Look, hijito, just like when we were children! You keep saying you don’t want it, but look at you, you just can’t stop laughing about it!” Ernesto proclaimed triumphantly, unable to stop himself from falling into yet more boisterous laughter at the look on Hector’s tear-stricken face.

Hector was completely out of breath, tears running down his face. His cheeks were flushed a deep red, and his chest was heaving through every gasped breath between his shrieks of laughter and cries for mercy. “Ernesto, you win, you win! ¡Basta ya! Please! No more!” 

This was clearly not enough for the larger, laughing man on top of him. Hector got another slight reprieve, as Ernesto used his hands to keep his legs together, so he could turn around and pin them with his own legs once more. “Oh, it’s enough when I say it’s enough, hijito,” he said back over his shoulder, chuckling with playful menace as he tugged the individual pant legs of Hector’s trousers back up. His fingers continued their relentless work on his legs afterwards, digging into those sensitive thighs, dancing away from his kicking legs only to dart back in for yet another quick assault on his nerves are new locations. It was all a game to him, a game that had him laughing as he bounced around from Hector’s struggles. slowly drawing their way down towards his bare, defenseless soles. “I have most certainly not had nearly enough!” he laughed, almost diabolically. His fingers took their time on Hector’s soles, toying with his toes as they travelled from the balls of his feet back down to the heels, leaving little untouched with every pass. This left Hector screaming.

“Not the feet! Not the feet, Ernesto, ¡ten piedad, por favor!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, through the wheezing, overwhelmed laughter that sent his entire body shaking while he thrashed his torso about in yet more vain struggling against the sturdy rope holding him down.

  
\----

  
In the room above, their neighbor took a broom and pounded the floor between them in protest. The men below completely ignored it, leaving him no choice but to tie a pillow about his ears with his belt and toss himself back to sleep angrily, as Hector’s pleading scream rose up through his room once again. “¡Ten piedad!”

  
\----

This latest assault on his sensitive nerves had the poor younger man bucking his entire body about with even more spirit than before, leading to Ernesto proclaiming, “I’ve always wanted to ride a bull! ¡Eso!” He pantomimed taking a hat off of his head, his other hand taking hold of the instep of one of Hector’s feet, and he let out a loud, ecstatic whoop like a cowboy performer riding a bucking bronco for his fans. He slid himself back for a more firm seat on Hector’s waist, and every dip and twist of his body from Hector’s thrashing had him calling out to an imaginary crowd, “¡Olé! ¡Eso! ¡Qué fantástico, mis amigos!” His fingers curl as they continue to dig into the inner sole of Hector’s foot, the bull rider explaining to him, “The crowd loves you, hijito! They keep clamoring for más, más, ¡más!”

Hector finally managed to kick Ernesto’s hand away, an almost breathless scream rising up from his wide open mouth, “Enough!” Ernesto apparently finally agreed, but not so much that he couldn’t reach down with both of his hands for a final, screaming ovation from the captive audience beneath him. After he finally got the last of his fill of wriggling his fingertips directly into the soles of Hector’s struggling feet, he tilted himself to the side and acted out a tragic fall from an untameable bronco, his hand over his heart as he blew a kiss to the crowd before sliding off of the bed onto his back upon the floor. He held himself, kicking his own legs with raucous laughter over the younger man still struggling and screaming whole seconds after the tickling had properly ceased.

Eventually, Hector realized he was no longer being tickled, and calmed down accordingly, his clothing in complete disarray and dampened with the sweat of their mutual exertions soaked through.

He waited there for a few moments, gasping through the sweat beading on his face while his eyes flitted about from rafter to rafter overhead, his body working desperately to find breath where only moments before Ernesto’s teasing fingers had ensured there would be none. There had been so much emotion pent up inside of him before, so many heavy weights, that had kept him chained to the earth beneath them like heavy shackles, but now, now he felt none of it. He felt light, airy almost, with a newfound cheerfulness. He drew his legs in as Ernesto knelt against the side of the bed, arms crossed to prop himself up while he stared down, with a glow of his own on his face, at Hector. “How old are you again, you bicho raro?” he teased with a maverick grin on his face.

“I’m a child at heart, always!” Ernesto exclaimed, pouncing back up on the bed. “And it’s not weird when boys play with each other like boys!” His hands were back at Hector’s armpits, leading the younger man back into his previous fits of shrieking struggles.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! ¡Paren esto, amigo! ¡Por favor! ¡Basta!” he cried out through the tears, before Ernesto actually listened and pulled his hands away. Hector collapsed back into the bed beneath them, his mouth agape for all of the breath he had to rediscover after the extended torture.

Ernesto brought his hands to Hector’s face, cupping it with his palms to force him to look up to him while he bent down over him. “Hector,” he started, his smile fading into something more serious, and ultimately more concerned. “How do you feel now?”

Hector’s eyes locked with Ernesto’s, and he swallowed to clear the dryness in his throat before responding, quietly, “Better now, amigo.”

Ernesto nodded, giving his face a gentle shake. “Good. Hector. Please understand, you are not alone, okay? I know you made sacrifices. We both have. I know exactly what you have been experiencing.”

“I know, amigo.”

“That’s why I did this. You understand, ¿sí? I did this for you. I saw a friend being dragged down by depression and nostalgia, and I wanted to help him, you understand yes?”

“I do, Ernesto. Thank you.”

“No more homesickness? No more Imelda interrupting you while you play?”

“Until the last of the crowd cheering our names fades away, I will not be distracted, amigo, ¡yo te prometo!” Hector proudly, and enthusiastically, proclaimed.

Ernesto was persuaded by this, and gingerly patted his cheeks with both palms. “Good. Very good. You’re making me proud, Hector.” He finally let go, leaning back over Hector’s body to undo the ties at his wrists, letting the rope fall where it would with its dry thumps. Once down, he rubbed down Hector’s wrists, just to help him find some feeling once again, before pushing himself back off of the bed and onto his feet.

Hector sat up in the bed, wringing his wrists before his chest, and glanced around like a man reborn and experiencing the world for the first time once again. He turned to look at Ernesto, who folded his arms as he stared back silently at him, and after sharing this moment of silence together, he finally stated, simply, “I’m starving, amigo. What’s for dinner?”

“Aha! I found a small and charming hostería on my way here. Let’s clean ourselves up quickly, we can still find a seat there, I’m sure!” Ernesto offered, taking Hector’s arm and helping him back up off of the bed. He held onto that arm, patting his shoulder once again, and stated simply, “I’m glad to have you here with me, Hector.”

Hector smiled back, warmly, gratefully, and responded, “I’m glad to be here, amigo.”


End file.
